


Lost Boy

by goresque



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bad Ending, Bodily Fluids, Breeding, Cervical Penetration, Creampie, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Electrocution, Face-Fucking, Gangbang, Kink Meme, Mind Break, Oral Sex, Other, Spitroasting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vaginal Sex, gaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 21:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goresque/pseuds/goresque
Summary: Pharma makes a final decision to go against Tarn. It ends poorly.A fill for the kinkmeme.





	Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a monster that grew way longer than I intended and took me close to two years to finish. It is not for the faint of heart.
> 
> I think I’ve hit all the points I needed to. For 48 hours this will be available to read freely. Then it will be restricted to members only in order to try and restrict minor access to this fic.
> 
> A fill for this prompt > https://tfanonkink.dreamwidth.org/26881.html?thread=16267009#cmt16267009
> 
> Pharma is coerced to have sex with the entire DJD, and he doesn't really have any choice on the matter.
> 
> So they frag him in every way possible and pump his valve and aft port full of transfluid, repeatedly. By the end of it all, he's a mess, covered in it all over and leaking it out of both of his ports, and possibly his mouth as well.
> 
> Bonus for unwanted pregnancy as a result of the aforementioned session. 
> 
> Double bonus if said pregnancy was caused deliberately by one of the DJD, who made sure to push his spike into Pharma's gestation chamber as far as possible (maybe some mechs' spikes can be extended specifically for this act), just because he finds the experience particularly pleasant (unlike Pharma, I imagine) and he doesn't get a chance to do it often, so he couldn't skip the opportunity to pump Pharma's gestation chamber full of transfluid as well.
> 
> No beta we die like heroes.

Pharma knew he had fragged up.

He’d known since day one that the deal was raw on his end. He had been given the splinters of the short stick and expected to be joyful that he was being given even that much. Even as he worked his hands bare, his metal worn and smooth from the work he’d had to do, at the pace that Tarn expected, he found himself faltering. Energon stained his paint, his fingertips having just the barest hint of pink no matter how hard he scrubbed.

In short, Pharma knew he was going to fall, by his own hand even.

The missed quota had just been to get Tarn to see him. He’d exploited the mech’s gluttony for high grade and good music. He’d tempted Tarn with his body, with the high grade as social lubricant. He’d nestled his lithe frame right up beneath Tarn’s treads, slid one hand over the tank’s thigh and used the other to feed Tarn his fuel.

He’d miscalculated how much of the drug to put into Tarn’s drink. He’d had to account that Tarn may be paranoid enough to make Pharma taste his fuel beforehand, and thus had to make it enough that a mouthful wouldn’t put him out of his right processor. Tarn was a large mech, a fuel tank that burned through energon fast and hot. Pharma had to work fast before he burned through the drug.

So Tarn had rebooted to Pharma’s delicate hands wrist deep in his chest cavity, desperately parting tubes and hardware to reach his spark. Pharma had stared him in the optics, unsure what the next stage of action was. He’d come this far, only as daring as he was then because he was cornered. He was desperate for relief, to be released from the chains that Tarn had shackled him in.

There had been a split second where they were silent, without motion. They had seen each other bared, without armor. Tarn, a mortal mech capable of ceasing his function; and Pharma, a cornered mechanimal ready to kill for his own.

With his chest hanging open, chords soaked in energon sparking along his chassis, Tarn held Pharma aloft by one wing. They stared at one another, the fury building between them. There was a desperate struggle to Pharma’s vents, like he were half a klik from overheating.

“Pharma.” He sounded angrier than he’d meant. Tarn cycled his vents and shuttered his optics. Now was not the time to lose himself in his wrath. Now was an opportunity. “I’m hurt, really. I thought we had fostered a more amiable relationship through our business together.”

“Business!” Pharma shrieked. His thrusters kicked out, his heel pressing hot against Tarn’s thigh. He fired his thruster, digging in harder. “I’m a prisoner in my own facility!” He was near hysterical, flailing and clutching at Tarn’s firm grip on his wing. Tarn saw it, through the desperation and the raw anger, the pain and the fear- Pharma was  _ humiliated.  _ “You think I’m a fool! I’ve never been a willing participant, I never will be, I’ll be giving you cogs until you die, you ancient scrap heap!”

“Oh, Pharma,” Tarn hummed, his Voice stilling Pharma’s struggling. He watched as the jet went quiet with panic, his optics wide. His thin fingers went lax around Tarn’s grip, plating rattling under his gaze. “You have always had a choice. However, I find it very unfortunate you chose wrong.”

Wasting no time, Tarn dwarfed Pharma’s faceplate in one massive palm, and dashed his helm against the wall.

* * *

Pharma onlined to one optic on the fritz, and a vertical crack interrupting the other. His frame ached in ways he could only imagine compacted trash understood. His struts trembled at the mere thought of holding him up, and Pharma allowed himself a reprieve to collect himself.

His memory bank booted and uploaded his most recent files and threads, some of which had been corrupted by cranial trauma. Just something else to fix on this Primus-forsaken rock.

Except Messatine wasn’t this warm, even in the depths of his own quarters. As he stirred, Pharma pulled the file from his assassination attempt. The results only had him curling tighter in on himself.

So Tarn had clearly taken him back to the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ to undergo his trial. If torture and death could even be called such. It was a mockery, in Pharma’s opinion. And whether they liked it or not, the Decepticon Justice Division would be hearing his opinions about a lot before they snuffed his spark; or tore his voxcoder out, whichever came first.

Pharma’s audial twitched in the direction of an opening door. He supposed it would be now, then.

As Tarn’s impressive form filled the space above him, Pharma rolled onto his side, glancing between his arms. The static made it difficult to make out the tank, but it made it that much easier to ignore him.

“Well?” he said, using one arm to push himself up. “Are you going to murder me or not?”

Tarn seemed amused by that. At least, Pharma assumed he was amused. His frame shook just barely in that way he did when he would chuckle, as he so often did in their meetings.

“Murder? Oh, my dear Pharma. I think not. As a business associate, you will be given something much better than death.” Tarn didn’t paw at him like Pharma had anticipated, instead sliding one servo under his limp form. He curled his arm around Pharma’s waist, pulling him close to his frame. Pharma could smell his polish, sheer with a hint of zinc; it made him shudder, a sickening feeling forming in his tank.

“Then what joys do I get to look forward to?” Pharma spat, flinching as his injured wing was bumped. It didn’t escape Tarn’s observation.

“Poor, pitiful thing. Don’t worry, Nickel will have you in top shape after tonight. You’ll need it, for the evening we have planned for you.” Tarn was practically cooing; it only further chilled Pharma’s fuel lines.

What was even worse was the petting. Tarn’s blunt digits (how very un-Decepticon like, Pharma thought) were stroking down the seam of his wing, teasing an aileron. A firm scowl settled over his features. “If you’re trying to clang me you could have done it when I was passed out. At least then I would have enjoyed it.” Pharma paused to slap at Tarn’s hand on his wing. “And stop that, wings aren’t some absurd erogenous zone like you grounders think. Did you think I would melt to your pedes with just a few pets? Insulting.”

“Oh no, my dear Pharma. Not yet.” With little other warning, Tarn scooped Pharma up and took him from the cell, his busy servos roaming. Pharma knew Tarn could never deny his indulgences- he felt sick to think now he might be one such indulgence.

Pharma yelped as a digit worked into his thruster, still sore from when he’d jammed it into Tarn’s thigh. He wriggled, servos attempting to pry off the arm surrounding him. He found himself clinging to Tarn to avoid falling, as the tank pulled his arm back, only giving Pharma the illusion that he was being held. 

Trembling, Pharma tightened his legs around Tarn’s middle, and thought about just how fragged he really was. 

There was no point sugarcoating it- he would be tortured, possibly killed. No matter what Tarn said, nothing that was awaiting him would be pleasant. At least, not for Pharma. 

He had a feeling many of the DJD would enjoy getting their filthy, decepticon claws into him. 

As they approached the bridge, Pharma clung tighter to Tarn. The tank may be unstable, but Pharma knew how to handle him. Tarn could be reasoned with at times, could be made to see the logical conclusion. The rest of the DJD? Pharma would be lucky if they even listened to his screams. 

“Now, Pharma,” Tarn crooned, prying Pharma’s legs from his waist. He dumped the jet on the floor, unceremonious as he stepped to the side, circling Pharma like a mechanimal on the prowl. “You understand the risks of fooling me. You almost succeeded, even. You are going to wish you had.”

Pharma clutched at his chest. Tarn’s torturous words had his spark clenching and flaring in its casing. He crumpled in on himself, curling against his own frame with the knowledge he was going to die. A desperation came over Pharma, vibrating off of his frame as he thought,  _ I have to do something. _

It was then he noticed the rest of the DJD closing in. 

The bridge of the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ was dark. Out of the shadows came Helix, Vos perched upon his massive shoulder pauldrons. Tesarus came from behind him, his grinder already spinning with sickening little crunches parsed between the clean whirr. Pharma could hear the humming of electricity from Kaon, somewhere in the darkness, leaving him trembling on the floor. 

Pharma shook with the intensity of his anger and his humiliation. He had failed, and he had been laid to wait for his demise. “You’re a coward, Tarn,” he sneered, pushing himself up onto his knees. “At least have the decency to finish me yourself.”

“Now, Pharma,” the Voice sent something warm shooting up Pharma’s spinal strut. Tarn was shaking his helm at him, like he were an ill behaved sparkling acting out. “You musn’t get too ahead of yourself. I’ll take my turn when I’m good and ready.”

Pharma didn’t even realize that Tesarus had come so close, gasping as the whirr of his grinder neared, right beside his helm. He kept himself still, locking his sensors and his cables to keep from making any minute movements. 

“Come on, Tarn,” the titan growled, coming right down to Pharma’s audial. The jet didn’t dare look back at him, too aware of just how close the teeth of the grinder were. He knew if he moved, if there was even one blade too close, he would lose more than just paint. Pharma stifled a yelp, keyed down to a soft whimper as his hand was taken, pulled close to the turning teeth. “Just one of his hands. Lemme grind just  _ one.” _

Pharma risked a glance at the servo holding his wrist. His delicate, carefully crafted hands were in the grip of a giant; Tesarus’s massive paw dwarfed his palm, his slender fingers twitching in the grinder’s grasp. The glint in Tesarus’s glyphs, the way he pulled Pharma’s hand  _ in, _ not touching the blades but surrounded by them… It sent fear lurching in his tank.

“Tesarus.”

At Tarn’s even toned glyphs, Tesarus growled, but forced his spinning teeth to a stop. Pharma couldn’t help the choked sob that slipped through him.

That one moment of weakness was enough to have Tesarus descending upon him again, one of his massive servos coming around to Pharma’s abdomen, cupping him as he used his other hand to guide Pharma’s arm into the maw of his grinder. “Touch them,” he hissed. Tesarus held Pharma’s servo between three massive digits, forcing him to stroke the smooth edges of his grinder in between the teeth. “Feel that? Yeah, get your fingers in there, medic.”

“I’m a  _ doctor _ !” Pharma exclaimed, his helm finally snapping to look Tesarus in the optic. He yanked his arm back, clenching his jaw as the armor of his forearm caught on one of the grinder’s blades. He ignored the stream of energon sliding down his arm. He looked back to Tarn, with something pointed and harsh in his optics. “If you’re going to kill me, I demand to be treated with the respect I deserve.”

That seemed to intrigue Tarn, who tilted his helm ever so slightly. There was a curve to his optics like he were smiling behind the mask, as if he were amused by the seeker’s outcry; Pharma hated being laughed at.

Before he could say so, Tarn swept in, pulling Pharma from Tesarus’s grip. He curled one servo around Pharma’s waist and used the other to pull the jet’s wounded arm to his mask. Then, just as Pharma was about to remark how sweet Tarn must think he was being, a slick, warm glossa peaked from between the lips of the mask. The tank’s glossa slid up, swiping away a good portion of the half-processed energon.

Pharma’s wings twitched, pressed against Tarn’s broad chest. His vents hitched at the prospect of that glossa sliding along his wings, like it had done so many times before. Oh, how he had taken the nights of only the two of them for granted. Distracting Tarn was a treat, simple and easily carried out. The whole DJD? Pharma didn’t stand a chance. 

“Now, Pharma,” Tarn purred into his audial, the Voice doing downright sinful things to his spark. “You’ve been rather discourteous to Tesarus. He showed you right where his sweet spots are, and you didn’t even make use of them.”

“Put ‘im right here, Tarn,” Tesarus rumbled, lowering himself to his knees. Pharma watched the giant lean back on his aft, folding his legs under his body only to pat his thighs. Pharma nearly choked his vents at the thought he was to be put right in front of the massive grinder that Tesarus had wanted to stick his hand in. “I’ll give him something to look forward to.”

Pharma was deposited in Tesarus’s lap. His turbines whined, his hands trembling as he braced himself against the horrifying grinder. He looked back at Tarn, a look of horror written on his faceplates. 

“Well? Touch him, Pharma. He did you the favor of showing you where, too.”

The seeker looked back into the maw of the grinder, where he could see all the way to the back chamber. A horrid scent rose from the far reaches of what Pharma denounced as death. And even then, his shaking servos reached in to slide along the smooth metal, fingertips dipping between the well oiled rings that spun opposing to one another. 

Pharma tried not to dwell on the breathy moan that escaped Tesarus as he fondled his insides. Disgust welled up in the jet, fully aware that he was being watched. The entire DJD was watching as he was molested, forced to pleasure the big, ugly brute below him.

Pharma risked a glance at Helex and Vos over Tesarus’s pauldron. He shuddered as he witnessed the two doing what less educated mecha would call “getting tactile.” He grit his dentae and squirmed in Tesarus’s lap, uncomfortably aware of just how hot the titan’s panel was getting. 

Even worse was one of Tesarus’s massive servos pawing at his aft. Pharma squawked, snapping his arms out of the titan’s cavernous chest, when the blades swirled sluggishly. They moved back and forth at first, before Tesarus gripped Pharma’s wrist and guided it back in, and then the blades were spinning in lazy, steady circles.

“Go on. Stick your pretty hands in,  _ doctor.” _ Tesarus was sneering as Pharma once more massaged the sensitive gaps between his grinding wheels. He purred out, “Oh, yeah, that’s how I like it. Get in deep.”

Too distracted with keeping his appendages from being violently swept off his body, Pharma didn’t feel the hand prying under his panel until it was too late. He yelped, crying out as Tesarus shoved his interface panel to the side, forcing it under his armor. It hurt, but it wasn’t broken, and for that small mercy Pharma was grateful.

Realization came over Pharma like an avalanche. His hands trembled as he stared over to where Vos was being stroked to overload by his mountainous partner, and then to Kaon who was crackling with charge. He didn’t dare look at Tarn. Pharma didn’t want to know why he was humming, or why the humming made his thighs slide with his own slick.

Tarn wasn’t just trying to humiliate him by forcing him to pleasure one of his men. Pharma was going to be defiled right there in front of them all. And then Tarn said he would have his “turn.”

He was pulled from that thought tree too soon. Pharma jumped as he felt one massive digit pressing at his exhaust port, dry and forceful. “You brute!” he exclaimed, cheeks turning pink as he flushed with energon. “You can’t just- mmph!” A hand was slapped over his face. 

“Kinda mouthy, ain’t he?” Tesarus mumbled, swiping his fingers through the plump lips of Pharma’s valve before he went right back to prodding his afthole. He kept his palm over the jet’s mouth. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer putting his intake to other uses,” Tarn chuckled, sending a zap of pleasure right through Pharma with the Voice. 

Tesarus wiggled one digit up the tight port, working his way deeper, until he pulled a shout from Pharma around his palm. “There ya go, doctor. Bet you’re too prissy to use your tailpipe. Ever had a spike up there? You’re about to.” 

Pharma squirmed and writhed in Tesarus’s lap, his muffled hollering doing nothing but wearing down his voxcoder. The digit working his exhaust port felt uncomfortable more than painful; he was disgusted he had to find silver linings about this farce. 

Until Tesarus shoved another digit up his tailpipe, and Pharma promptly shrieked. 

“There, there, doctor,” Tesarus growled, taking his servo away from Pharma’s intake to guide one of his shaking hands downwards. The titan’s panel transformed smoothly away. Tesarus’s thick spike pressurized against his belly, short and fat. Pharma bit his glossa against the torrent of poisonous words that threatened to spill. He didn’t want to make this worse for himself. Instead, his vocalizer clicked static, and he was forced to watch as Tesarus put his hand along the tip of the stout spike, saying, “Let me show you where it hurts most.”

Revolted. That was how Pharma felt about this sick mind game. Revolted, and only a bit scared. Fingers trembling along the head of the broad and short spike had Tesarus groaning below him, and Pharma was even more aware of the fingers in his exhaust. Tesarus’s digits kept pushing and rubbing, raising nodes that weren’t meant to be stimulated, until Pharma was practically vibrating and  _ oh, oh,  _ the way those fingers tugged at the rim of his port when they pulled out. 

“Lookit that.” Pharma was pulled from his thoughts, as if a trance had been broken. He was drooling. 

Tesarus was crowing with laughter, and that wasn’t the worst of it. Pharma bleated static as he realized he now had three digits up his tailpipe; he hadn’t even noticed the last finger going in. 

“The good doctor may as well be an overpaid pleasure drone.”

For some reason that cut him deep. Pharma shook his helm, but when he opened his mouth a heavy moan escaped him. His fans were blowing hot air and his cockpit was steaming up as his hips rolled back onto Tesarus’s fingers. Every cable and piece of his sensornet was on fire from the molestation of his frame. It was humiliating. Pharma’s whole body rattled, shrieking as he connected with Tesarus’s chest, and the glass of his cockpit was nicked by the grinder’s slow moving blades. Pharma could register the sound of a sharp screech, the protest of his frame.

Recovering from the shock of pain traveling through his cockpit, Pharma felt his cloudy processor fixate on the surface deep scratch. It was a shame, really. He couldn’t help but feel like he should be more upset, like the person who was controlling his frame wasn’t him. He cast a look over his shoulder to Tarn, who was busy fondling Kaon’s conductors. He pleaded without words, derma parted just slightly, begging the tank to save him from Tesarus’s torture. Static came out.

When Tarn shook his head and motioned a hand to Tesarus, the grinder plunged his fingers back in deep as Pharma howled himself into an overload.

He slumped, his negligent weight resting against Tesarus’s spinning grinder. Too late did he realize just how close he was. Inside the grinder he could see scraps of metal spinning around between the teeth. He nearly purged as he saw the remains of what had to be a servo. 

While he was busy checking to make sure it wasn’t  _ his _ servo rattling around inside of Tesarus, the grinder took his distraction and lifted Pharma up higher, the seeker’s cheek dragging along the hot expanse of his chest. Pharma barely felt the fingers inside him leaving, his port clenching on nothing. He vented out long and heavy, finally relaxed without anything inside him. 

Until he felt something thicker than three fingers breaching him. 

Pharma screamed. Tesarus’s spike was dry, pressing against a barely lubricated port. Pharma was shaking, arching, clinging, as he cried, “Stop stop stop stop stop!”

Tesarus grunted, but ceased his penetration. Pharma was stuck there, with the tip and the thickest part of the giant’s spike trying to press into a port that was meant for expulsion of fumes. The jet trembled as he pushed his knees down hard, aching to lift up and off the spike. Tesarus yanked him back down, forcing another few mechanometers of his spike inside Pharma’s exhaust port. 

Pharma cried out again, sure his port was torn or leaking- perhaps this was how he would die, port torn from a sadist’s spike. It wasn’t the glamorous death he had imagined. “I’ll- I’ll put my mouth on you!” he exclaimed, clutching at Tesarus’s shoulders in his desperation. “Please! Please, just don’t go in dry!”

Tesarus smirked, and lifted Pharma off his lap. He set him down on his knees, panting and shaking from the pain and the stimuli to his aching chassis. Before Pharma could weasel himself out of it, he came faceplate to spike with Tesarus, and he found himself hyperfocusing. He barely thought about how Tarn was still humming, and just how foggy his processor was. Instead, he opened his intake, and licked just under the tip of Tesarus’s spike. 

Pharma tried to imagine himself away from this disaster. He imagined he was home in Iacon, the city gleaming and Hadeen warming his wings. He imagined the warm winds and air currents that could be used for fast travel, or even a pleasurable flight. He imagined himself tucked away by the wind, the clouds, protected by the sky. 

He was torn from his fantasy by a tongue laving his tailpipe. 

When Pharma attempted a glance over his shoulder Tesarus righted his helm and shoved him right back down on his spike. He couldn’t see who was behind him, couldn’t see who it was that was clutching his hips in spidery servos and lapping a stripe from his anterior node to his clenching exhaust port.

Pharma was forced to focus on Tesarus’s spike. He curled his tongue around the tip, dipping into the sensitive slit that housed the jack, which pulsed energy and zapped his tongue, desperate for a port to plug into. Pharma couldn’t help but whimper, and then shout, when the tongue on his aft was replaced by a thin spike probing his tailpipe. It pushed, and then went lower, rubbing between the sopping folds of his valve. The spike was thin, not very long, and as it slipped right into his open, wet port, he couldn’t help but jerk back reflexively. Pharma twisted his body to try and look who it was that had violated him, and was backhanded for his trouble. 

“Vos!” That answered who was behind him. “I’m tryin’ to get him ready for me, you can’t just steal my thunder-“

And then Vos was chattering in Primal Vernacular. Pharma was still reeling from the strike to his helm, reorienting himself with Tesarus’s spike against his derma and Vos’s slim cord sliding into his valve in quick, shallow thrusts. Every hump was enough to ignite the sensors within without grounding any charge. Pharma mewled behind the spike in his mouth, gagging as he was silenced with a solid palm against his audial. Tesarus’s massive fingers curled around the back of his head with ease.

In just a nanoklik, Vos snapped his hips up, breaching Pharma’s sore exhaust port. The thin metal of his tailpipe stretched, supple and relaxed, but not without complaint. 

Pharma shrieked. His whole frame convulsed and jerked as charge crackled all over his frame, grounding itself through him. The jet trembled and vibrated from the aftershocks of such a phenomenal overload. Pharma went limp in Tesarus’s lap, spike slipping from his intake. 

“Hey, shareware. You still ready to play doctor?” Tesarus was leaning over him, thick fingers dragging down his thighs and giving one strong push. Vos was flicked to the side, and Pharma arched up into the digits stroking circles in his aft. He was pushed to the ground, arm coming under his middle to hoist his lower half up.

Pharma lay there, exhausted and slowly coming to the realization he was going to be drilled like a mechanimal. Every further degradation left him numb, his internals cold and unresponsive. Even still his traitorous valve dripped. Pharma found himself backing onto the stout spike rubbing between the folds of his port, wet and slippery with lubricant, hoping for another taste of penetration. The ache in his loins had yet to be satisfied. The humiliation of being fragged up his exhaust, being watched by Tarn and his lackeys, was like a tire fire. The smoke of disgust burned thick in his throat, and the heat sunk low like tar in his tanks. And still the roaring kindle of his arousal was stoked. 

His aft port was fingered again. This time Pharma could barely feel the sting, instead forced to focus on the stimulation of the risen nodes. He mewled against the onslaught of sensation- something not quite pleasure and not quite pain. 

A steely hand gripped his jaw from behind, turning his face for him. Pharma focused on what was in front of him, and realized he was being forced to look at Tarn; Tarn, who was guiding Kaon’s helm over his spike with practiced ease. Pharma grunted, optics shorting out as he was penetrated by the head of Tesarus’s blunt cord.

The titan’s charge poured into Pharma’s frame, arcing across his plating. His paint bubbled from the electricity. Pharma wasn’t sure if he was even awake anymore, the pain mixing with the muted sensation of pleasure from his aft. He couldn’t focus on anything without resetting his optics; and still he had Tarn to look forward to.

“How’s it feel to watch his spike get polished by some other lucky slut?” Tesarus sneered in his audial. Pharma scowled and grunted as he was pushed forward on his cockpit, his snide remark cut short. Voxcoder spitting static, Pharma found his face pressed into the floor of the bridge, Tesarus’s broad hand on the back of his neck. Even with his sensors dampened from overload and overstimulation, it still hurt to have Tesarus thrust so suddenly.

And still he couldn’t keep his optics off of Kaon lazily pleasuring Tarn’s spike. Every slide of Kaon’s derma was accentuated by a kiss to the very tip of Tarn’s cord, electricity dancing between his tongue and the slit that hosted Tarn’s jack. 

Pharma’s body rocked and jerked with the erratic thrusts of Tesarus’s frame, his hands resting at the back of Pharma’s neck and just under his left wing. A sharp, shrill sound of metal rent from his frame had Pharma screaming. 

“Tesarus.” Tarn’s Voice was harsher now, and Pharma felt clear for a moment, the fog of his processor lifting when the attention of the tank shifted. He felt Tesarus flinch behind him, spike still lodged deep within his tailpipe. 

“Sorry,” Tesarus grumbled. He sounded petulant, like a sparkling caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Couldn’t help it. They’re just so rip-able.”

Pharma knew his poor wing was in terrible shape. He thanked whatever spell Tarn had him under via the Voice; he barely noticed the pain. 

No, instead all there was to feel was pressure. Pressure on his exhaust port, pressure against his rising nodes; every push against his internals left his HUD full of alerts and warnings. The most prominent, and unhelpful, was the red one pasted across the top: 

**WARNING: EXHAUST BLOCKAGE DETECTED.**

Blockage indeed. The rage festered in Pharma’s tanks. He clenched his fists, the pain of being pummeled into the ground by some undeserving scrapheap’s connector hurting his pride more than his frame. 

Pharma found his faceplace pressed into the floor, his hips turned up high as Tesarus beat down on him with his thrusts, using gravity to spike Pharma’s aft with new brutality. The fog had returned to his processor and Pharma moaned as a new heat flooded him; energy traveled over his risen nodes, Tesarus’s transfluids leaving him hot and still full of his own charge. 

A sharp clang resounded as Tesarus slapped his aft. Pharma felt the slide of Tesarus’s spike exiting his exhaust port, leaving him gaping and clenching. Transfluid dripped from his tailpipe, the sopping folds of his valve glistening as the silvery fluids mixed with his slick. 

Tesarus left him like that, face down and aft up. Pharma couldn’t even muster up the energy to feel ashamed of how debauched he must look. 

Pharma shuttered his optics and took solace in the silence that fell over them all. Even Tarn’s humming ceased. Maybe they would stop. Maybe Tarn would take his turn with him, humiliate him, and then be done with it all. 

No such luck. 

Pharma grunted as he was kicked onto his back, forced to focus his one good optic on the mech above him. He scowled up at Kaon, legs closing in an attempt to preserve what little pride he had left. He didn’t care much for Kaon- which was fine, because Kaon didn’t care much for him. Pharma glanced backwards at Tarn, then focused back on Kaon. Must be a jealousy thing. 

Kaon knelt over his cockpit, pinning Pharma with his knees. The dark, empty craters where Kaon’s optics should have been bore down into Pharma like twin black holes. 

“What?” Pharma snapped, unable to hold his glossa. “Too good for me? Tarn wasn’t.”

Kaon slapped him with an open palm, electricity spiraling through his faceplate. Pharma’s one working optic fizzed out for a few moments. Once back online, Pharma was met with Kaon’s array in his face, the slippery folds of his valve hovering just over his chin. The shaft of Kaon’s spike was a deep, eerie red, with spiraling yellow biolights; Pharma thought it looked ugly. He said so.

“Nobody cares what you think,” Kaon told him, the conviction in his glyphs thick enough to crush. Kaon rumbled, electricity sparking over his rods as he tilted his hips down. Kaon pressed his valve down along Pharma’s faceplate, grinding with a righteous fury. Pharma kept his intake firmly shut. 

Kaon rose a little higher up, until he could grind his anterior node against Pharma’s nasal ridge. His servo moved fluidly along his spike. Every tilt of his hips allowed Pharma to gasp out a vent, Kaon’s lubricants flowing freely between his derma. Pharma scowled into the array, baring his teeth against the soft mesh folds grinding down on him.

“How does it feel to be used like a toy?” Kaon gripped Pharma by his chevron, forced him to look up into his empty sockets. “It’s what you deserve, you know that? Tarn never wanted you for anything else. Even your skills as a medic were a lower priority than getting you to spread your legs-”

Pharma bit him. He showed no mercy, drawing energon. The taste mixed with Kaon’s lubricants, leaving a heavy feeling in Pharma’s intake. He didn’t need to wait for the strut shaking electric shock that pulsed through his entire frame. His plating didn’t stop rattling even when he stopped convulsing.

“He bit me,” Kaon hissed, having rolled away from Pharma’s prone form. Pharma ignored him, focusing instead on restoring power to his most vital functions. His HUD blinked an angry red at him, his diagnostics scrolling by at rapid speed. He didn’t have time to read all of that. 

“Then lemme take care of him.” It was Helex who stepped forward, broader and taller than even Tesarus. Pharma choked, his frame aching with just the sight of the titan. 

While he was struck dumb, Helex grasped one of Pharma’s servos and pulled it flat against the glass of his smelter. His derma quirked up into a nasty smirk as Pharma tried to flinch away from the heat, only for one of Helex’s secondary arms to hold it tight.. “Feel that, Doctor? That’s the heart of Primus.”

Pharma held his tongue. He didn’t need to make things worse for himself; not with a mech like Helex who could crush him in one hand. Instead he grit his dentae and bore the pain slithering up his arm. It was a heat unlike any he’d ever felt before, one he hoped he would never feel again. Not until after he was dead, if he was lucky.

Finally Pharma was allowed to cradle his arm against his cockpit, soothing the frayed sensors. He risked a glance up at the titan, unsure of what to expect. Helex was more even-keeled than the others, he knew, but that didn’t mean he was any less cruel. The proof of that came as the form of his rising spike. It was enormous, something only fit for another huge mech like Tesarus or Tarn. Pharma closed his legs, knees clanking together as he saw it pressurize against Helex’s abdomen. 

“I don’t use my spike much,” Helex drawled, large servo stroking along the length of it. Pharma noticed him teasing some flexible spines under the head, likely to stimulate nodes deep within the valve. The tip was vaguely bevel shaped, as if he intended to catch on something deep within another mech. His next admission caught Pharma by surprise, “I’m a valve mech at spark. Not that an autobot deserves my valve. However, I’ve got a few spike mods that I rarely get to use, and I’m going to take my time at enjoying them.”

Pharma noticed a seam under the spines, something he’d seen on several mecha before called a medial ring. It usually meant the spike could be extended once inside a partner, and just that information alone left Pharma feeling cold inside. Many mecha who had medial rings were minibots who had them installed to pleasure larger partners; he knew this wasn’t true with Helex. His spark skipped a rotation. 

Helex dragged his digits between Pharma’s valve lips, sliding the lubricant around. He circled his anterior node a few times, pressing down just hard enough to get a lurid gasp out of the jet and ignoring the transfluid sliding down Pharma’s afthole. He showed little interest in his port and for that Pharma was grateful. Helex’s digits continued their massage into his passage like missiles, thumb rolling circles around Pharma’s node. It gave him a moment to relax. He went limp, exhausted from battling, as Helex’s talented digits abandoned him. Pharma’s optics offlined as he heard the shifting of frames, and then felt the wide head of Helex’s enormous spike at his valve.r

It didn’t hurt. Pharma’s mesh parted in an exquisite stretch, snug but pliable, as the bevel-tip finally reached its apex and sunk in. Not even the spines hurt; they moved with the spike as Helex split him open in what could be considered gentle, dragging against nodes as the titan pulled and pushed, making headway inch by torturous inch. There was a moment when Pharma stopped venting, his optics fritzing and his vocalizer bleating static in a savage overload, and he knew Helex had forced every last length of his spike inside him. 

“Out! Get it out!” Pharma shrieked, feeling the massive spike butting up against the iris of his gestation chamber. His valve turned too sensitive too fast post-overload. It was an opening filled with sensors, none of them caring much for tactile pressure in the first place. The only thing that was supposed to touch the sensors there was transfluid, which would trigger the iris to open. “It hurts!”

“That’s the point,” Helex purred into his audial. Then the pressure alleviated, and Helex was pumping the spike back into him in measured thrusts. There was no hurried motions, no erratic rutting. He pulled out in smooth motion, dragging the spines along the soft mesh of Pharma’s valve, and pressed back in all the way until he hit the top of his valve again. Pharma shrieked once more, body arching off the filthy floor as charge crackled along his frame. “Just wait. You’ll see just what I have in store for you.”

The humming got louder. Pharma trembled with every slow thrust, every piece of Helex’s spike sliding into him. He heard a click and dreaded what it could mean. Pharma moaned as Helex pushed in all the way up to his gestation chamber, the pain pulsing in time with the ecstasy he was forced to endure, and then promptly shrieked again as the spike got  _ bigger. _ Pharma howled as the iris of his gestation tank creaked, heard the rending of metal not meant to bend.

“Let it happen,” Helex crooned, his smaller set of arms stroking Pharma’s cockpit and abdominal seams while his other arms completely engulfed the jet. His hips twitched, his optics sliding shut as something inside of Pharma gave way, and finally the extension of his spike sunk further in. 

There was a distinct  _ pop! _ as Pharma struggled with renewed efforts, light streaming from his optics and drool sliding down his chin. He arched and flailed, sobbing as he was forced open in a place no one had ever breached. It was agonizing. Every shallow thrust hurt more than the last, pain blooming from his loins.

Helex moaned, one hand coming to cup Pharma’s face and silence his screaming. “Enough of that,” he hissed, his hips rocking in short little ruts, the flared head of his spike keeping him anchored inside Pharma’s womb. “Just be a good little incubator for me. We’ll pump a sparkling into you, and maybe then you’ll learn your place.”

Just the glyph  _ sparkling _ had Pharma struggling again, renewed energy pulsing through his lines like fire. His cables strained and his limbs burned with the effort it took to keep fighting. The humming was deafening now. Every sob that escaped him made a rhythm to the thrusts and the hum, trapped in an endless push and pull of torrid pleasure and agony that never ceased. 

Pharma could feel the spike pulsing within him, felt every twitch that spread him open just the slightest bit more. Trapped, and full. The measured thrusts had turned to desperate rutting, Helex’s hips grinding Pharma into the floor. The hand over his mouth shifted until three fingers sunk into his intake, forcing him to suck and gag like a common pleasure drone. He still couldn’t bear to online his optics.

“Don’t fight it,” Helex purred against Pharma’s audial, digits slippery with oral lubricant as they slid out and grasped Pharma’s face. Hips tilted, he finally overloaded. Helex’s transfluid pooled in Pharma’s tank, his valve clenching as his whole frame shuddered. He didn’t overload, at least he didn’t think so. Helex repositioned himself and placed his secondary set of servos on Pharma’s hips and then jerked back with painful abruptness. 

The same  _ pop! _ that had haunted Pharma’s gestation tank was heard once more. Desperate hands came down to his valve as Helex pulled out, his spike retracting back to its original length, but as they dug into his valve they found no transfluid. 

“No, no no,” Pharma whispered, whining as he curled his fingers inside himself, clawing painfully at the end of his valve. There was no way to reach his chamber, or to trigger an emergency purge. His chamber had been force fed as much fluid as it could handle and it was trapped there. “You- you can't make me carry a… a…”

“ _ Sparkling,” _ Helex rumbled. Pharma onlined his optics to devilish derma turned upwards at the corner as Helex patted Pharma’s distended abdomen. Like a pet. “Just wait, incubator.”

That glyph made Pharma’s spark flare in his chest. He sobbed, legs pressing together around his servos until he could feel nothing but the ache of his chamber. He had never dreaded something so completely, so fearfully. Coolant streamed from his optics in glittering tracks as he curled onto his side, frame aching in ways he’d never considered.

Then the humming stopped.

The lack of noise fell on Pharma like an immovable weight. He stayed the rattling of his armor to listen for something. Anything. He scanned for the shift of armor, heavy vents, fans,  _ anything. _

There was nothing, except heavy pedesteps coming ever closer.

“Look at me, Pharma.” Tarn stood over him, forcing him onto his wings. He shuffled away as Tarn took a knee, one broad palm sliding under his back. Pharma’s wings trembled under the thumb at his hinge. “You understand what you’ve done wrong, don’t you?”

Pharma wanted to scream  _ no _ he would  _ never _ understand what Tarn wanted to impart on him through his brutality. He wanted to dig his digits into Tarn’s optics until they sparked out forever. Even as he desired Tarn’s violent deactivation, he wanted to live even more. 

Instead, he croaked out, “Yes! Yes, I understand. Please…” It killed him to beg. Pharma swallowed his enormous pride. “Mercy?”

The word came out hoarse and tired. Pharma had uttered it in Tarn’s presence under far better terms before this, when they had enjoyed pleasure from each other’s frames. The illusion of civility was gone now. 

“Oh, Pharma,” Tarn crooned, stoking Pharma’s cheekwith the back of his servo. He leaned down, oral vents hot on the jet’s audial. “You’ve already been given mercy.”

Dread coiled in Pharma’s spark. He avoided gazing at Tarn’s spike, turgid and rigid with red biolights adorning either side to compliment the braided platelets on the underside. It was familiar, had known Pharma’s valve many a time in the comfort of suite, and now held a menace about it. They had never been meant to meet like this, thought Pharma sourly. 

“Just relax.” Tarn’s rich tones surrounded him and Pharma instantly recognized the Voice. A part of him wanted to fight; the rest of him heeded Tarn’s command. Tarn repositioned Pharma’s head between his knees, his spike standing at attention above Pharma’s nose. “You’ve taken your sentence well. Your trials are almost over, pet.”

Anger surged through his lines, but Pharma found he could barely move beyond tilting his helm back to expose his throat cabling. If he had to be shareware, he decided, he was going to live through it. Tarn would not break him here. 

Tarn’s spike dragged across his cheek. Pharma ignored it, derma pressed tight together despite how the tank made no efforts to penetrate his intake. He took his time rubbing along the smooth plates of Pharma’s face. Prefluid smeared across Pharma’s lips in a lurid display of debauchery as Tarn rutted against his face. Finally, as Pharma was losing his patience at being used as a transfluid rag, Tarn hummed, “Open.”

The obedience was a measured response. Pharma allowed Tarn to slide his spike between his derma, filling his intake with his hot, flexible girth. He choked down a gag as Tarn slid further in, using the position to slide past Pharma’s relaxed gag reflex. It was a horrid feeling, one manner of venting blocked without triggering the protocol for it to be diverted to other vents. But still he relaxed. They’d done this before, though Pharma was loathe to imagine their earlier trysts. The tenuous trust they had built between each other was gone. Awfully enough, Pharma had only himself to blame.

Tarn stroked his neck and face, always in motion to stimulate Pharma’s tactile sensornet. His internals felt rearranged and his struts numb from the freezing floor and all he could do to hold on was the touch that was being forced upon him. The only thing keeping him out of his own helm was the bastard torturing him in the first place. So he let Tarn take his pleasure from his throat, drool welling up around his spike. Every gag produced more lubricant, dribbling down Pharma’s cockpit until he looked every bit as messy as he felt on the inside.

Then, Tarn pulled his spike out in a sharp jerk. “Let’s get you into a better position,” he crooned, broad servos manhandling Pharma onto his stomach. He curled and arm under the jet’s hips and pulled him up until his knees splayed him open for the rest of the DJD to view. Leaning back, Tarn cupped Pharma’s cheeks and fed him his spike, seizing up his oral vent once more, until he could once more warm his connector in the snug heat of Pharma’s throat.

“Who would like another turn?” Tarn purred, motioning with an admonishing servo to Pharma’s raised cunt.

Before Pharma could even protest there was a blunt spike pressing against his valve. He moaned around Tarn’s spike, optics dimming as he was taken once more. His valve was sore and swollen. Every drag of the tapered spike was enough to make his legs twinge with every thrust. 

Tarn didn’t let him raise off his spike. Nor did he leave Pharma to retreat into his own processor. He hummed again, soft and high pitched which sent Pharma spiraling his calipers on the spike within him. He felt supercharged hands grip his hips so hard his medical grounding couldn’t soak up the enormous amount of charge. It thrummed through his lines like fuel, every piece of equipment heating and fritzing in the face of Kaon’s outlier ability.

“Don’t worry about them,” Tarn hushed, drawing Pharma’s optics back to him. He rocked his hips against Pharma, sliding his spike through the jet in a tantalizing reminder of exactly where Pharma’s attention should be. “They’ll tear you apart, my dear Pharma.” Every glyph pushed Pharma’s charge higher, even if he should be horrified. “But I’m the only one you’ll come undone for.”

Pharma cursed the Voice as he overloaded, frame wracked with more charge than he’d ever accumulated before. It left his ailerons flapping and hip vents smoking. His valve cycled and clenched on Kaon’s spike, howling again he spilled highly conductive transfluid into Pharma’s channel. As he came down from the overload, Pharma managed a look up, drool pooling under his tongue and running over his lower lip.

Tarn was still talking.

“You feel that? How angry he is?” Pharma felt it as Kaon yanked his spike out, and then another pair of pedes approached. Pharma flexed his neck, optics flickering to the side. “No, don’t look. It’s just Tesarus. You remember his spike, don’t you? Nice and thick in that slutty port of yours. You never let  _ me _ stick it there, dear Pharma. Why not?” All Pharma managed was a gargle of protest, thighs trembling as Tesarus’s thumbs dipped into his valve and spread him out. “Tell, Tesarus. What do you think?”

“Think this one’s definitely  _ shareware _ material, Sir,” Tesarus said with a nasty emphasis on the glyph. “He’s dripping so much t-fluid I’ll be able to just slide right in. Never know how Kaon has so much in his tanks. Can we keep him as a charge dump?”

“We’ll talk,” Tarn cooed, thumb stroking Pharma’s cheek. The jet was looking glazed, barely responsive after his last orgasm. Even as Tesarus sunk his broad spike into his valve he didn’t flinch, just twitched his hips. Tarn purred, approval ringing through the Voice. Pharma moaned around Tarn’s spike, gagging as Tesarus shoved him forward. “Oh, did you like that, Pharma? My darling, if you had such extreme fantasies I gladly would have indulged you.”

Pharma’s charge was rising again, but he was left without energy to struggle. Every overload pushed him further to an edge he didn’t know existed. It wasn’t as if he was new to overstimulation- medics were kinky fraggers among their own kind after all- but the Voice was making everything further away, more difficult to stay present for. He didn’t even notice when Tesarus came inside him until he pulled out.

There were fluids dripping out of him now, after his valve had seen more use than Helex’s nasty mods. Pharma’s valve clenched on nothing, spread wide without a spike to fill it. Transfluid dripped in thick globs onto the cold floor beneath him, leaking from his port down into his valve. The lips of his valve were puffy and swollen, his anterior node blinking in neglected desperation.

There was another spike, this time pressing at his port. It was one he recognized. Vos’s spike was gentler than the others by virtue of size, but he held back nothing as he rammed Pharma’s afthole for the second time. Vos chattered the whole time, though Pharma had little clue what he was saying. He did hear Tarn laugh at one point, startling Pharma out of the spell the Voice had him under. He instantly wished he hadn’t as the pain of his array hit him full force.

Pharma sobbed around Tarn, frame trembling as another overload was eked out of him. He clawed at Tarn’s thighs, pushing back against the palm on his helm. There was no give, and his resistance petered out.

When Vos was finished he pulled out and sprayed his transfluid all over Pharma’s back. Pharma could feel the vents along the plaited armor of his middle. He didn’t get a chance to rest as Tarn too yanked free of his intake. He gasped, air flowing freely through his oral vents again. He was sure he looked an enormous mess as he hacked and choked up thick lubricant that had traces of energon in it.

“Look at me, Pharma.” 

He did. Pharma gazed up into Tarn’s mask, plating rattling along his whole frame. He choked out a sob, coolant streaked down his faceplate. He wanted to demand just what else Tarn had in store for him, but his vocalizer only clicked.

Tarn rubbed his spike against Pharma’s cheek, his servo stroking along the underside. He hummed, optics crinkling just slightly and Pharma knew he was smiling behind the mask. Tarn spoke with a gentle lilt, almost soothing, “Helex called you an incubator. I like that. You’ll be an excellent method of stress relief for my men, and adding to the Decepticon forces while you do it. How does that sound, my dear?”

Pharma tried to protest. He wheezed out nothing, just empty air and desperate clicks. He flinched as Tarn reached to stroke over his helm, thumb brushing away a tear. Tarn only moaned as he came, transfluid splattering against Pharma’s face.

The humming stopped and Pharma finally went limp. His HUD informed him of imminent shutdown, diagnostics and fuel level warnings scrolling past. He was vaguely aware of being gathered up into to Tarn’s arms, a quieter humming soothing him now.

Before he passed out, Pharma heard Tarn whisper to him, “Rest now, pet. You’ll be serving the Cause in the best way you know how.”


End file.
